


The Stuffed Dog

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2017 [13]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, actual married murder husbands, minor murder husbands, someone give alana a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Alana Bloom would prefer if Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter left her family alone, thank you very much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. femslash february is winding down, and i'm posting the rest of the fics that i have written every day of the month. i hope that you guy enjoy the blitz  
> 2\. i’m not really sure how I got on another Hannibal kick but it happened. I hope you enjoy it.

Beep, beep, beep

 

Beep, beep, beep

 

Beep, beep, beep

 

Alana groans, and rolls over. She opens her eyes.

"It's just six o'clock," she groans, rolling back onto her stomach. Margot maneuvers her arm over Alana to silence her alarm.

"Why did I set the alarm for six o'clock?" She asks herself aloud. She's still half asleep, ripped prematurely out of a particularly pleasant dream.

"You're taking Morgan to school today," Margot reminds her. Yes, now Alana remembers. They gave the nanny two days off to visit her mother. Alana is in charge of Morgan's transportation today, Margot is tomorrow.

 

Alana forces herself out of bed, and kisses Margot softly on the cheek.

 

"Love you," she murmurs. Margot murmurs "love you" back, and Alana gets ready for the day. She drops Morgan off at school, and arrives at the hospital.The day is uneventful, and she goes to pick him up quickly enough. Soon she arrives at Morgan's school.

"Ms. Bloom?" Ms. Keenan asks.

"You sound surprised to see me," Alana says. She doesn't see her son among the crowd of kindergarteners.

"Your brother said he was picking Morgan up today, because you gave Alicia the day off."

"My brother?"

"Yes?" Ms. Keenan says.

"I don't have a brother," Alana says.

"Mrs. Bloom, I don't know what you mean," Ms. Keenan says.

"Describe him," Alana demands.

"He had an American accent, like yours," she says, "curly brown hair, a plaid shirt, around 1.8 meters." Alana knows who it is.

"He said his name was Will," Ms. Keenan adds, sounding skittish. And there's her confirmation. Alana feels ill.

"If anything happens to my son," Alana says, "I will _end_ your career." She doesn't even feel bad about it. She's heard the homophobic things that woman has said when she thinks the Vergers aren't listening.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Bloom," Ms. Keenan says. Alana nods. She doesn't believe her, but she appreciates the sentiment.

 

Alana storms out of the school, and gets into her car. She grips her steering wheel tightly. Alana doesn't know what to do. She can't call the police, but she doesn't know what she can do. She feels like the world is collapsing around her. Her phone rings, and Alana checks it,

 

Unknown name, unknown number.  Alana picks up.

 

"Will," Alana says.

"Alana," Will says, pleasantly, "I'm impressed. You already figured it out."

"You took my son," Alana says.

"I'm aware," Will says.

"What have you done to him?" Alana demands. Will doesn't say anything. He doesn't speak long enough that she thinks he left the phone to fuck with her.

"Mom!" she hears in her son's voice. He sounds utterly excited. 

"Morgan, sweetie," trying to steady her voice, "how are you?" She can't tip him off that something is wrong. She doesn't know how Will (and probably Hannibal) would react. She doubts it could be good.

"I like Uncle Will," Morgan says. Alana doesn't know how Will convinced him of that so quickly. Uncles and brothers don't exist in their house. Morgan is never supposed to talk to strangers. Somehow, something slipped through the cracks, and now he's in the arms of serial killers.

"Good," Alana says, swallowing the bile that rises in her throat, "sweetie, could you put _Uncle_ Will back on?" She hears the rustling of a moving phone.

"See," Will says, "he's _fine_ , Alana."

"What do you want?" Alana demands.

"Oh nothing, Alana," Will says, "my husband and I just wanted to visit our godson." Alana's not sure which part comes as more of a shock: husband or godson. Judging by the nature of their relationship, Alana shouldn't be surprised that Will and Hannibal are married now. She also shouldn't be surprised Will decided that he was Morgan's godfather.

 

Alana had thrown that idea around years ago, when Will was semi-stable. Married to Molly, with a stepson of his own. Back before he dove off Hannibal's cliff and abandoned whatever shred of morals he still had left.

 

Will Graham, the bride of Frankenstein and his monster rolled all into one.

 

"You're both sick, you know that?" She knows that more than most people, considering her history with the two, sexual, romantic, professional. She ran the gambit with those two.

 

Alana knew she was bisexual at twenty, but she had always imagined she'd marry a man. Being out always seemed too risky, too bold, and most of the people she was attracted were men anyway. It seemed sensible, before the insanity of Will and Hannibal. Then she thought she'd give up on romance, maybe on morality all together.

 

Then she met Margot, who was raised in the bowels of abuse and waist deep in pig manure and still managed to hope. Still managed to fight, to joke, to _love_ despite everything. Alana Bloom was hooked after that.

 

She gave up her naivety when Hannibal tried to kill her, but she took some hope back after she let him live. She doesn't know if that was a mistake or not.

 

"And you and Margot, you're good, upstanding citizens?" he asks. Alana doesn't have any illusions of that. She and Margot are fucked up. They've done fucked up things, but they can still function in the world. Margot makes her want to go on. She and Morgan are all she has.

 

She'll be damned before she lets those two take either of them from her.

 

"Maybe, maybe not," Alana says, "I don't give a fuck either way, Will. I want my son back. I don't care what else you two do, but let him be." She wants it to sound threatening, but it comes out begging, exactly as she expected. Will Graham laughs a humorless laugh.  

"You'll meet us at the Old Navy at the Galleria mall downtown." Alana actually laughs. Who the fuck arranges to settle a hostage situation at an _Old Navy_. At least she knows that it’s Will making that choice. If it were Hannibal, then the place would be way more upscale.

"We'll make sure Morgan gets back to you safe and sound." Alana knew Will in another life, before he became whatever he is now. Before Hannibal sunk his claws in so deep she can't recognize him. She isn't sure what to make of this Will, but she knows Hannibal, dignified Hannibal, refined Hannibal. She can feel fairly secure in the assumption her son will remain unharmed, if they both cooperate, at least.

"But if you were to tell anyone," Will says, trailing off for a moment, "well, neither of us want it to come to that." Alana bites her tongue.

"I'll see you there," she says. She takes a small bit of childish joy in being the one to hang up.

 

She waits outside the store for forty minutes, leaning on her cane for twenty of them before she finally caves and sits down on the bench. The store is on the third floor of the mall, so there is a great hole in the middle of the floor. The railings stretch all around the opening, and don't leave too much walking room on the sides.

There is nothing to do but people watch, but somehow, Alana still does not spot them until they are nearly in front of her. They stop probably twelve feet in front of her, Morgan swinging between them like a little monkey. They set him down, and Alana can see the wide smile on his face.

He hugs Will's leg, and the other man hugs him back. Will is more well-shaven than she's ever seen him, likely Hannibal's influence, but he also seems happier than she's ever seen him. She doesn't want to attribute that to Hannibal's influence, though she suspects it is the case.

Hannibal Lecter kisses her son on the forehead. Will hands him a stuffed dog and ruffles his hair. Whatever this is, Alana can't watch any more of it. Alana clears her throat, loudly. Loudly enough that Morgan can hear. He turns away from the serial killers, and spots her. His face lights up.

"Mom!" He says, running over to greet her.

"Look at the dog Uncle Will gave me!" Alana hopes that her disgust doesn't show on her face. 

"His name's Winston," he says proudly. Of fucking course. Alana picks her son up, and hugs him tightly to her chest.

"When will we see them again?" He asks, "my godfathers?" Alana turns and looks where they were. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have vanished without a trace.

"Hopefully, never again," she says.  


Alana drives them home, but they don't get home until a solid three hours later than normal.

 

Margot is waiting for them at the dining room table, looking worried and irritated. She's still wearing the navy suit she wore to her meeting today, and she's clutching a glass of red wine. Morgan can feel the tension from a mile away, and runs to his room to play on his iPad.  

"What happened?" Margot demands.

"Margot-"

"What happened?" Margot demands, clutching the glass of wine tighter. Morgan isn't only their adored son, he is also the only way to maintain the family fortune. They never like to talk about that part though. Alana takes the glass out of her wife's hand and sets it softly on the end table.

"Hannibal and Will took Morgan after school," Alana says. For seeming like a worried mess earlier, Margot is taking the news that their son was kidnapped by a man who once promised to kill him rather well.

"How did they find us?" Margot asks.

"We aren't subtle, Margot," Alana says, "the head of the London Psychiatric society and the Verger heiress? They didn't have to do much digging." Margot nods.

"What do we do?" Alana asks her. She thought she knew Will. She thought she knew Hannibal. She doesn't think she knows anything anymore.

"Nothing," Margot says.

"Nothing?" Alana scoffs.

"They were telling you that we are no longer targets, Alana," Margot says.

"Then why kidnap Morgan?" Alana demands. She's the psychiatrist. It's her job to understand people. She feels powerless now that she doesn't.

"To prove that they can," Margot says, "they have to show off their power." Alana laughs.

"Is that a men thing or a serial killers thing?"

“Is there a difference?” Margot asks. Margot never knew men who weren't serial killers, and Alana's list is dwindling. Alana is not so sure that there is a difference anymore. Margot bites her lip.

"That dog that Morgan brought in," Margot says cautiously, "was that from them?"

"Yes," Alana says, feeling sick to her stomach, "should we get rid of it?"

"I don't see why," Margot says, "it's a nice toy, regardless of where it's from." Alana cracks a smile. That almost sounds like Morgan himself, born upon Mason's grave, with Mason's sperm.

Alana and Margot decided that nurture could trump nature long ago, as soon as they decided to have Morgan. They slew the monster, and they can raise the child it begot. Morgan will be a knight in shining armor, a prince worthy of the kingdom. They love him, and they won't let him turn out like the other men in their lives.

"Sure," Alana says, "he can keep the dog."


End file.
